


drowning, please rescue me

by mabonwitch



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Bondage, D/s, Dom/sub, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Kink Shaming, M/M, PTSD, Pepper Potts is made of awesome, Phil stays dead, Sub Drop, Team Dynamics, kink as psychology, unrequited feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-14
Updated: 2013-04-14
Packaged: 2017-12-08 12:41:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/761413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mabonwitch/pseuds/mabonwitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint is fucked up after Phil dies. Tony has some ideas about how to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	drowning, please rescue me

It was, ironically, his desire to do good that sucked him under in the end. 

Clint wasn't doing well. Tony knew, because all the Avengers lived in the Tower now, and Tony was a genius. Even when people thought he was being an asshole, he knew stuff. Tony could redesign the armor's left gauntlet, flirt with Pepper, and notice Barton slinking off without eating more than a bite or two _all at the same time._

Tony was pretty sure Rogers knew there was something wrong, too, but Rogers might not have the cultural referents to figure it out. Namely, homosexuality in the 21st century. It could, of course, have been Loki's mind-fuck screwing with Barton. Tony calculated that possibility at roughly 2.5%, though. No, it was Coulson.

Coulson had probably been too professional to take advantage of Clint's obvious thing for him. (Or maybe just too straight- he heard things, OK?) The emotional component, though, the way Coulson looked out for Barton, guided him through- there was no reason Coulson should have avoided that. It made sense, on a work level, and on the level of friendship. Tony knew, in a vague way, about Clint's fucked up childhood. Maybe Coulson inferred Barton's need for a little order, seen it as mentoring. Fuck, maybe Barton saw it that way, too.

Tony did not see it that way. Plenty of tabloids could- and had- sneered that Tony saw everything as sex. It wasn't true, but this? This, where Clint suddenly lost the person in his life that told him what to do and how to do it, and Clint wandered around looking lost and cold, even when the temperature in the Tower was cranked up to 85 degrees? This looked like the worst case of sub-drop Tony had ever seen.

He wanted to fix it.

**

Tony lasted three months. Three long, torturous months of watching Clint (because if he was going to think about this, he was calling him Clint, damn it) get worse instead of better. He saw Roger's kindness and Bruce's space and Thor's distractions and Natasha's tough love have exactly zero impact. 

At least now everyone had realized something was wrong.

The missed shot was the breaking point. It wasn't a critical shot, and Clint brought the target down with a second arrow on the heels of the first, but. Clint disappeared on them after that, went off-grid for 24 hours, and popped back up at the Tower like nothing had happened. Tony absorbed how pale, how thin, how bloodshot and fucking miserable he looked, and broke.

Tony went to talk to Pepper, because he loved her and needed her. He just needed to be able to do this, too. Pepper's resignation was worse than anger would have been. Seeing it slowly leave her face as he explained, carefully and in great detail, exactly what he wanted to do and why, felt like redemption. At the end, while not over the moon, Pepper was willing to give it a try. (She worried about Clint too, bless her.)

**

Tony did't try to corner Clint, because that was a horrible idea. He did quietly tell his teammates that he has an idea, and needed to run it by Clint. It didn't take long for them to end up alone. 

“Hey,” he said. No use pretending something wasn't up. “You've probably been waiting for this, yeah? Everyone else has tried their thing.”

Clint nodded, his shoulders hunching up.

“Yeah, thought so. My idea's more... experimental. An experiment,” he corrected when he saw the look on Clint's face. “You don't like it, you think it's not working, you can bail any time. No harm, no foul.” It was important to get that out there. Clint might not know exactly what he was agreeing too, because hitting him early with “D/s relationship” could be too intense, but he needed to know that much.

Clint frowned. Slowly, he said, “Okay.” 

Tony nodded, a small knot sharpening in his gut. “Okay. So, here's my idea. Come down to my lab with me for an hour, and do whatever I say.” He raised a pre-emptive palm. Clint shut his mouth. “One hour. You can leave if it's not working for you. At least give it a chance.”

Clint's mouth pulled into a highly skeptical shape. At last, he shrugged. “Sure, whatever. Not like I got anything better to do.”

That was sort of why Tony was worried. “Cool.”

**

JARVIS cued the play list Tony had created for this when they came through the door together. It was music they agreed on, rough mixed with sweet, all set at a volume considerably lower than Tony's usual. Clint dropped his shoulders an inch when he wasn't blasted walking in the door. Tony pointed at a chair and told Clint to take a seat. He was prepared to follow up with orders about moving around, but that didn't happen.

Twenty minutes in, when Clint stopped fidgeting and sank into sniper stillness, Tony changed the game. He stopped the occasional humming and took his eyes off the work he'd pulled up. Clint blinked as he felt eyes on him.

“Roll that over here,” Tony said. Clint rolled his chair to where Tony gestured, now next to Tony at his desk. Tony took hand out of the hologram as he turned his eyes back to it. “Going to touch your hair now,” he said. “Say if that's not alright.”

When no protest was forthcoming, Tony buried a hand in Clint's short, bristly hair. He stroked through it. Clint didn't startle or shy away, so Tony let himself get mostly reabsorbed in his work. He had a guess that, unlike most, Clint might find it reassuring not to have all the attention focused on him. After awhile, Tony's hand drifted absently down to pat Clint's neck. Tony stilled and blinked away the equations.

“Clint, when was the last time you had a professional massage?” SHIELD agents were supposed to get them regularly, but...

Clint didn't answer. Tony considered. “If you're not going to answer a question I ask, tell me so.” Backing Clint into a verbal corner was as bad as chasing him down would have been.

“I'm not going to answer that,” Clint said immediately. His muscles tensed, like he was preparing for a blow. 

Tony took extra care to sound calm when he spoke. “Alright. Turn around.”

It took Clint a minute, but he did it. Tony set both hands firmly on his shoulders, then dug in. Clint grunted. Tony wasn't worried. He worked with his hands and he had a strong sense of how the human body should align. Hell, Bruce preferred his massages to medical's. It wasn't surprising, given their work and his choice of weapon, that Clint's shoulders and neck were knotted painfully. Tony took his time, using careful application of force to work Clint's muscles. He also took an animalistic moment to appreciate the form under his hands.

“I realize we work with a super-soldier and a god, but man, Clint, you are seriously built.” It was only after it left his mouth that Tony realized how that sounded. “Uh, sorry, that was reflex flirtation, not flirtation with intent.”

Clint snorted. “Yeah. Pretty sure Pepper'd kill you.” His voice was minus the sharp edge it held so often recently. Tony resisted the urge to pump his arms in victory. 

“Yeah. Plus, turns out I'm a one woman kind of guy when it's Pepper.”

“Turned you down for a threesome, didn't she?”

“You wound me.” And then, because he was honest, added, “Right on the money. Pretty sure Rogers wouldn't've agreed, anyway.”

Clint snickered. 

Tony dug his thumbs in at the shoulder and shook him lightly, a playful gesture. “Please, don't tell me you don't want a piece of that.”

Clint laughed. “Pretty sure I don't actually. Too many years hearing Coulson go on about him.” His shoulders came up again, and his voice got sharp as he ended. Tony frowned.

“Deep breath, in and out.” Clint followed orders. As he breathed out, Tony flexed his thumb into a persistent knot, giving Clint an excuse for the pain sound that wanted to escape. “Again.” He watched Clint's back bow and twist. “And one more.”

There. Clint had loosened again, though he was silent now. But that was fine. He ran a hand down Clint's spine to just below his shoulder blades. “Good.”

He could use the excuse to put his hands on Clint more, but he didn't want to push. Clint would let him now. Tony knew that the critical juncture would come later, when Clint looked back on this and decided to come back. So no cuddling, no groping, no overt shows of dominance, no over-the-top praise. Nothing that might raise his hackles.

Instead, they spent the rest of the hour in silence, Tony reaching over to occasionally pat Clint's back or run a hand through his hair. When the hour was over, Tony said so, and accepted Clint's nod when he asked, “Better?” as approbation enough. 

**

Clint showed up four nights later at two in the morning, looking like he hadn't slept since Tony had seen him last. Tony waited. 

“Again?” Clint sounded unexpectedly small when he asked. He crossed his arms, then let them drop, his fingers twitching at his sides. Tony didn't know what his own body language was saying, but since he wanted Clint here, probably nothing bad. In fact, the lines around Clint's eyes eased as he examined Tony. There was a flicker of surprise.

“Sure.” Tony turned away from his project to take Clint in. He smelled like a shower. His muscles were trembling very slightly. He'd tried to exhaust himself, obviously, and it hadn't worked. “Boots off,” Tony decided. “Sit on the couch.”

Tony scanned through his projects, looking for- “Ah. Here.” He tossed a game he'd been working on to Clint. “Beta test this for me.” It wasn't a Rubric’s cube, quite. It had eight sides, for one. But it was all colors and patterns, needing nothing but patience and mental acuity to solve. Fifteen minutes later, Clint whistled, spinning the toy on a finger triumphantly. “Great,” Tony said. He walked over and tapped one corner twice. Clint's expression as the toy randomized and changed shape was priceless. “Now try the next level.” Clint didn't respond, eyes glinting at the challenge.

Somewhere in level 4, Clint listed sideways. The cube, which by now more closely resembled a geodome, dropped next to him on the couch. Tony breathed a sigh of relief. After finishing up, he dropped onto the other couch (Bruce's) and laid down. 

“JARVIS. Decrease lights and volume by 1% every five minutes. Light to 10%, volume off. Raise heat to 70 degrees.”

“Yes, sir.”

**

Clint was gone when he woke up, but JARVIS said he'd slept six hours, more than he had in a few weeks. And also that he'd spent ten minutes staring at Tony before he left.

**

Three weeks and eight sessions in, Tony moved them to his suite. He tossed a cushion to the floor for Clint, took a seat on the couch, and put on “Brave.” Clint laughed and sat. He tucked his chin over Tony's knee comfortably enough. Tony watched the twitch of his fingertips and the slope of his shoulder, though, and asked JARVIS to pause the movie 20 minutes in.

“Thinking too much,” he said, scritching his nails through Clint's hair. Clint sighed into the touch.

“I- yeah, I guess. It's just.” Clint shifted onto his knees, turning to face Tony. “This shouldn't feel like this.” Tony stayed silent. Clint dropped his eyes. “I shouldn't, after everything, I shouldn't want...”

Tony smiled. “You're too self-aware to think it's that simple. Shouldn't want someplace safe? Someone trustworthy there when you relax?” He places careful fingertips on Clint's jaw. “I'm sure you've done some reading.” 

With a wry smile, Clint pulled himself into a picture-perfect submissive kneel, knees together, ankles crossed, back straight. Tony laughed warmly.

“Good boy,” Tony teased.

Clint shook him off. “I don't know. What do we even do from here?”

Tony stared thoughtfully. “We can go on as we have been, you know.”

Clint shrugged. “I like reciprocity.” Tony lifted an eyebrow. “Shut up, Tasha buys me books.”

“I could teach you how to do a tea service,” he said, because it's the first thing that came to mind. 

“You don't drink tea,” Clint said.

“Not as such, no. But I would if you did a tea service!” Tony's mostly sure he would, too. He actually thinks a minute. “It's kind of nice just having company? I mean, team company is loud, and Pepper-company requires my full attention,” He paused to contemplate that, “...definitely my full attention. You're relaxing.”

Clint considered that. “Huh.”

Tony shrugged. "Also, it's." His thoughts skittered around, trying to find a starting point. "I can make some guesses, but I don't know what you notice, and how well you can trace it back to what it _means._ So I think with my hands obviously-" he gestured to the floating hologram in the corner, the pieces of a project that have migrated up from the workshop, "-but I don't know if." He stopped. Blew out a deep breath. "I don't- ground well. Can't stop thinking." He laughed. "I lose time. Touching people helps. It makes things clearer."

Clint had set his face to neutral when Tony looked, something straight out of the agent handbook. "Is that why-"

"Yes," Tony said, "some of it." He really, really does not want to analyze all the sex he's had. Really. "'Can I have a cuddle' is not a question you asked growing up here. So."

"But you want one." There was some hesitance there. Not rejection, something else. "With me? What about Pepper? Doesn't she?"

Tony blinked. "Yeah, of course. But she's not here a lot, with work. And yes, with you." He reached out for Clint's shoulder. "If that's not weird?" It sort of was. He fought not to take it back. 

Clint crowded forward, moving until his head, arms, and shoulders were draped over Tony's lap. "This OK?"

Clint was warm and solid over his thighs. A frisson of pleasure ran down Tony's spine. He shut his eyes for a moment to enjoy the sensation, hands moving automatically back to Clint's skin. 

"Yeah." Tony cleared his throat. "JARVIS, resume movie."

**

After that, if he was in his workshop more than 12 hours, sometimes he'd surface to Clint kneeling by his side, and he'd have his hands all over him. Clint never seemed to mind.

**

And then, because life was like that, Tony had a bad night.

As in, screamed himself awake from a nightmare that was a flashback gone wrong, thank you very fucking much Afghanistan. Like the stalker that won't just _die_. He doesn't even think about it, but it keeps fucking writing and calling anyway. Goddamn.

He sat there in the dark, dragging a hand repeatedly through his hair, until the sun came up. Pepper was in Australia. He didn't drink. And for once, he was self-aware enough to know that his hands were shaking too badly to be wielding a blowtorch. 

Couldn't even think straight enough to work on something that way.

It sucked.

Caffeine helped a bit, even if everyone avoided talking to him after he nearly took Cap's head off. Clint came in after it happened. He obviously picked up the vibe, though, because he stayed silent. Only, then he followed Tony back up to the penthouse and slid the sunglasses off Tony's face. Tony blinked at him. He was off-balance. 

"Hey," Clint said, crowding close, "you- kinda look like you could use a hug?"

Tony's not sure what his face does, just that he set his coffee down on the nearest flat surface, hard. Clint pulled him in and squeezed. Tony couldn't help the noises he made as he clung. He didn't cry, but the wounded sounds tripping out of his throat were almost worse. Tony couldn’t make himself care, not when Clint so clearly didn't, because dammit, dammit, Afghanistan sucked and flashbacks sucked-

And it had been awhile since he'd had someone he trusted to hold him like this, right after. Work schedules were weird and he and Pepper just didn't sync up that often, honestly. Clint grabbed him tightly, all that muscle surrounding him and not letting go. Tony was aware, vaguely, that they were moving. Clint got them both on the couch, lying together. When he came to, Clint's shirt was rucked up and Tony's hand was on his stomach. He'd cried after all, because there was a wet patch on Clint's shirt. He tried not to be embarrassed. 

Tony loved his brain. Seriously. Because even after that, it only took him maybe five seconds to tune in to exactly how relaxed Clint was. And if Clint was relaxed, then there was absolutely nothing to be embarrassed about. Clint pulled back a fraction and took off his shirt. Tony made an appreciative noise and shed his own. He started to lower himself back down, wanting to press into the warmth, then hesitated.

"Is that OK?"

The honest confusion on Clint's face warmed him. "What?"

Tony couldn't help the smile. "The arc reactor. Not gonna weird you out?"

Clint rolled his eyes and tugged him down. Tony closed his eyes in bliss, floating on the warm solidity of skin. Clint and he were pretty matched for height, but the archer was much broader and Tony liked that. Liked how flopping over Clint made him feel surrounded and safe. Wondered hazily if that was how he made Clint feel, when he knelt at Tony's feet. He hoped so. Clint stroked along his back, long even movements. Tony tucked his head into the crook of Clint's shoulder and sighed. They breathed together. Just as he started to drift into sleep, Clint huffed a little laugh.

"You're secretly part cat."

Tony grinned against his skin and chuckled. Pressed close, there was no way for Clint to hide the shiver that evoked. Definitely attracted to men, then. Tony pulled back, because teasing was mean. At least when you weren't going to follow through. Pepper said so, and Pepper was the boss. Also, smart. Sometimes smart about people in a way that Tony wasn't. Anyway, the point was that he and Clint weren't having sex, so getting Clint to shiver and blush like that was an accident. Tony sat up fully.

"Naw, Pepper's the one with the claws," he said. He put a hand on the back of Clint's neck and smiled at him. "Hey, thanks."

Clint stared back at him, then apparently decided to let it go. "You were purring."

"I was not!"

Clint smirked. "Definitely purring. I'm telling Pepper on you."

Tony leered. "Yes, because Pepper doesn't know all about any sounds I may or may not make."

"Oh, is the purring a private thing, Tony?" Clint’s' smirk morphed into a grin. "Does Pepper know you're making private sounds without her?"

OK. Maybe not letting it go entirely. Tony could still play this off, though. "Pepper knows everything Clint." He gave the other man his best wide eyes. "Everything."

"Yeah?" Clint considered that. "She's kind of scary."

Tony laughed. "Fuck "kind of." Those heels are weapons."

Clint grinned. There was just a hint of a leer in his voice when he responded. "Lethal."

Tony grinned back in shared appreciation. "Yeah."

**

The sex was becoming a problem, which was not something Tony thought he'd ever think. Not sex with Pepper- that was great. It was the sex he wasn't having with Clint that was the issue. 

Tony could see by now that the contact and the D/s were helping Clint, keeping him more centered. Still mostly palliative at this point, however enjoyable, but definitely an improvement. They'd gone without for a week once, and Clint had been a wreck by the end of it. All of which meant that even if Tony wanted to stop (he didn't), he couldn't without hurting Clint. 

So sex. Tony, for a multitude of reasons, didn't want it. Clint did. Touching someone who was badly concealing their attraction was awkward. It was a good sign, on the one hand. It meant Clint trusted him, and that Clint was coming back to himself enough to want sex. All the hitched breaths and faint shivers made Tony uneasy, though, uncertain how to proceed. It would have made the most sense to send Clint out and get him laid somewhere in the city. Except for, well, all the issues that had made the D/s a good idea in the first place meant Clint probably wasn't up for that. 

To complicate everything further, the protective bent he felt toward Clint, enhanced by topping him, was coming to a head. So he did what he always did when he was stuck these days. He called Pepper.

"Hmm," Pepper commiserated down the phone. "You want to collar him, don't you?"

Tony blinked. "I- yeah. Yeah, yes, I really do. Is that- is that OK?"

Pepper made a thoughtful sound. "I think so. It's been two months now, and it really hasn't changed anything between us. You were right about that."

"You don't have to sound so surprised."

"Based on your amazing past experience keeping relationships on an even keel?" And, OK, that was fair.

Still, he protested, "Hey, I learned something from every one of those relationships. Granted, sometimes that was "don't get plastered when rich attractive virgins and their fathers are in the same room," but..." They both laughed. "Seriously, Pep, what do I do?"

"You collar him," she responded instantly. "Figure out the sex thing first. Can you screen his partners somehow? Would Natasha help?"

Tony hesitated. "I think Natasha's got a whiff of what we're doing and isn't best pleased. But that's a good general plan. How do you do that?"

"Trade secrets, Mr. Stark."

Tony chuckled. "I'll get them out of you somehow, Ms. Potts."

"You can try."

**

The phone flirting helped, and he and Pepper did eventually settle on a plan. When asked, Clint agreed enthusiastically to Tony watching hm with a man they picked out together. It took a few bars and a few false starts.

Brendan was a shade more masculine than pretty. He moved easily, on the dance floor and once they invited him to the back room of the Glory. If Brendan knew Tony and Clint's other identities, he kept it to himself. He touched Clint with a combination of roughness and playfulness that seemed to suck Clint in. Clint kept looking for Tony every few minutes, regardless of what else he was engaged in.

They were hot together, no question about it. Clint's repeated eye contact hinted at his vulnerability, but it also felt...wrong. Despite Pepper approving all this, tonight was the first time Tony felt like he was cheating. It made him feel dirty.

He kept it off his face and managed to escort Clint safely home without the archer knowing something was wrong. Tony made a beeline for his room, phone already speed-dialing Pepper, as soon as he was alone.

"Tony!" Pepper laughed as she picked up. There's something in her cheerful tone that suggests she's expecting details. Something in Tony's chest clenched.

"Hi."

Pepper stopped laughing. "Tony? What's wrong?"

Tony breathed. "We did the- thing. You know. The thing we talked about doing? Tonight. And it." He kind of stopped in the middle of his sentence.

"Tony. Put me on video chat."

Tony obediently switched over. He smiled at Pepper, who looked composed despite the little worry line between her eyebrows. 

"Alright. Talk me through it." 

It's her super competent CEO voice, the same one she spent years using to wrangle him. It's her don't-worry-if-you've-fucked-up-'cause-I've-got-this voice. Some of the tension left Tony's shoulders. 

"Nothing bad happened. I mean. Nobody's hurt, I didn't do anything I wasn't supposed to. There's not, I don't know, video footage or something. I just." He made a face. "I feel like I cheated on you." Tony forced himself to look at her on the feed. "I didn't cheat on you, did I, Pep?"

Pepper's face went soft. "Tony. Sweetheart. No, hush, you didn't cheat on me. You're OK." Tony put a hand over his face for a moment. Fuck. He didn't realize how badly he'd needed to hear that. He wasn't going to cry, for fuck's sake. "Tony?"

Tony looked back up at her. "Sorry."

Pepper cut her business trip short. Tony didn't feel right in his skin until she was there the next day, holding him. He tucked his nose in the crook of her neck and just breathed.

It took an embarrassing three person conversation over coffee, and two attempts, but they made it work. Eventually, they decided that Tony would stay in the front room (Tony bitched about the shitty beer), Clint got a panic button (Clint bitched about his sex life turning into an op), and Pepper got Tony when they got home (Pepper didn't bitch, just looked smug). 

Once he started getting laid more weeks than not, the sexual tension between Clint and Tony eased off and finally dissipated. Tony quietly bought a leather collar, decided it sucked, and taught himself how to make a better one.

**

"Fuck you." Clint shook, part adrenaline and part anger. Tony paused, his right leg still stuck in the suit from where it had been dented in the fight,

"Clint-"

"No, seriously, fuck you. Fuck you, Tony. You don't get to- you're not Coulson."

Tony swore to himself. This was the first time Clint had actually brought him up on purpose since Agent's death. "Clint, that thing was going to smash you into pieces if you tried to scale it."

Clint bared his teeth. "I had it. I didn't need you swooping in-"

"I saved your life!"

Clint shut down. "I had that fucking shot. You don't get to tell me what to do." And he stalked off.

Tony swore and pounded the armor. This was going to be a problem.

**

Clint was a robot- the crappy, uninspired kind, not like Tony's bots- over the next few days. Not that Tony had the chance to witness it firsthand. Clint fled any room Tony entered. The only way Tony saw the bruises forming under his eyes were from vid. Natasha glared when he asked her to watch out for Clint. He didn't know if that was for asking the obvious or if Natasha thought he was doing something awful to Clint.

Tony never found out what Pepper said to Clint. She asked JARVIS to delete the footage, and he did, the traitor. All he knew was that, a week in, Pepper showed up in his workshop behind a shaky Clint. Tony'd spent the last hour staring at the wall, trying to work out how to dig them out of the mess he'd made of things. 

"Clint!" Tony leaped to his feet and took two steps forward. "Clint," he said, voice softer, reaching out a hand. Clint swallowed and came to him, looking like each step cost him. Every fear churning in Tony's mind about what this week had been like for Clint turned to lead in his gut. Behind Clint's back, Pepper made a sharp, downward gesture. Tony nodded, and she turned and left. By the time Clint got to him, Tony knew to take his arm and guide him to the couch, setting a cushion on the floor for him. Clint melted onto it, not meeting Tony's eyes. Tony settled on the couch, knees braced wide around Clint, hand steady on his shoulder.

"'orry. Sorry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." The words started as a whisper and grew into a desperate chant.

Tony frowned. "I'm not trying to replace him, Clint. I can't. No one can."

"-sorry, I'm sorry, I, god, I'm so fucking sorry-"

Tony closed his eyes. Right. Not actually about him. He dragged Clint closer in an uneven hug, Clint's face pressed into his chest. Clint's arms came up and clung. There was a sob in his voice, raw and wrecked, probably the first time he'd let himself cry over Coulson. Tony kept him close. He pressed into the muscles of Clint's arms and shoulders, hands tight in his hair, trying to communicate as much with his body as the reassuring litany coming from his lips. 

"Got you, not letting you go. He would never blame you for this Clint, _never_. Not your fault. Won't let this happen to you again, promise. We'll keep you safe. He can't have you. You're mine. _Mine._ "

Eventually, Clint quieted, shivering in Tony's arms. After a few repetitions, he shuddered when Tony called him his and pulled back enough to look up at Tony.

"Promise?" His eyes were open and wet. 

Tony framed his face, both hands cupping his jaw. "Yes." He eased Clint up. "Come here, I made you something. Not, uh, the usual sort of something." Because, OK, he might have a slight tendency to make the Avengers exploding arrows and fast bikes. Clint let out a watery laugh. Tony slid open a drawer and took out the collar.

"Basic design, I know, but it's pretty indestructible. The base is still leather, but I coated it with- well, just trust me. Totally safe to be near skin, but no one can cut or burn that off you."

Clint touched Tony's hand, near the collar. "You- made me a collar."

Tony looked at him. Clint's eyes were fixed on it, his lips soft and hopeful. Tony cleared his throat. "Yeah. I want you to wear it. For me."

Clint ran a finger over it. "It's purple." His voice sounded so honestly amazed. It broke Tony's heart. "And the buckle's a bow and arrow. How did you-?"

"Clint? Will you wear my collar?

Clint hesitated. "What'll we tell the team?"

Tony put a hand under his jaw and forced eye contact. "I don't want you telling them anything, Clint." He considered. "I guess you can talk to Natasha, if you want. But I want you to direct everyone else to talk to me. What they think of this is my concern, not yours. You'll be leaving it up to me." 

Clint's finger traced the leather one more time, then he took it from Tony and sank to his knees. He offered the collar up on both hands. "Please."

Tony took the collar. His hands were steady as he opened the catch and settled it around Clint's throat. The special buckle fastened smoothly, everything perfect around Clint's neck. Tony checked the fit carefully. "Alright?"

Clint's eyes fluttered like they wanted to close. "Yes."

Tony chuckled and tugged gently at the collar once more. Clint sighed, boneless and relaxed. Tony ran one hand through Clint's short-cropped hair and down his cheek.

"Good boy." This time it was sincere.

**

Tony made sure he was in the kitchen before Clint the next morning. Rogers and Natasha were the only ones there when Clint wandered in, one hand scrubbing at his face. Sweatpants rode low on his hips and the neck of his T-shirt was loose enough to display his collar.

Natasha stabbed right through the apple she'd been reaching for and into the kitchen table. Clint jumped and gave her a wide-eyed look. She glared back, then turned a deadly look on Tony. Tony eyed her.

"You know what," he said to Clint, "I've changed my mind. Just send them all to me."

Clint edged around the table for his usual toast. "OK." He tossed Natasha another wary look. 

"Clint," she hissed. "What the hell?"

Clint turned to her and straightened up. He set his shoulders back and raised his chin, every inch of him proclaiming his determination.

"You heard him," he said, tone a challenge. "If you have any questions about my collar, you ask Tony."

"You're not a _pet_."

"I won't be answering any questions about this." 

"You're letting him order you around?"

Clint ignored her. Tony leaned back in his chair, pleased. It was good to see Clint standing firm. He took a sip of his coffee and eyed Rogers. The man clearly wouldn't know much about this, which could be good or bad. No information, but no preconceptions, either. His confused frown was sliding toward disapproval, though. Fuck Natasha.

Pepper entered the kitchen in her usual whirlwind, clearly two meeting in already. She took in the scene with a quick flick of her eyes before heading straight for Clint. 

"Clint!" She turned a full-force Pepper smile on him. "You accepted. It looks lovely on you." She leaned in and brushed a kiss to his cheek. "Congratulations."

Clint darted a look at the rest of the room before giving her a rare, sweet smile of his own. "Thanks."

"Uh." Excellent. Cap was about to make an entrance. "Is something going on between the two of you?" Pepper turned the eyebrow on him. Steve flushed. "I mean, you're OK with the whole-" He gestured to his neck.

"That really isn't your business, Captain." Fucking god, he loved Pepper. He grinned and took another swallow of his coffee. 

She linked her arm through Clint's and drew him to the table. Tony stood and poured a second cup of coffee. He bent for a lingering good morning kiss as he delivered it to her. The corners of her eyes crinkled in amusement.

"Good morning, Tony."

He sat back down. "Morning, Pepper." When he glanced at Rogers, the man was bright red and staring down at his plate. Pepper seemed completely unperturbed at having embarrassed him so thoroughly. Clint sat on his other side and munched on his toast. After awhile, his foot started tapping under the table, anxiety bleeding through. Probably due to Natasha's unrelenting glare. Two bits in to his second piece of toast, Clint pushed his plate away.

"Think I'm gonna go to the range," he muttered to Tony.

Tony waited until he was out of earshot. "Smooth, Romanoff. Do you usually throw him of his feed?"

"I'm not the one who's-"

"Taking care of him? No, you're certainly not. That pisses you off, doesn't it?"

Rising from her seat, Natasha exuded deadly intent. She wrestled with herself for a minute before whirling and stalking out of the room. Beside him, Pepper sighed. She rose and kissed his cheek briefly.

"Stay out of trouble, Tony."

He smiled after her. "Got anything else to say?"

Rogers still wouldn't meet his eyes. "It's not my business."

Tony eyed him and relaxed a little. "No, it isn't. But. If you can manage a respectful question, I might answer it."

Rogers stood and gathered everyone’s plates from the table and took them to the sink. "I'll keep that in mind."

Tony took the noise of the water for the escape it was and headed for the lab. He'd check in on Clint later.

**

Clint leaned in a fuzzy pile against Tony's legs. His eyes were at half-mast, that glazed look of sub space. Tony stroked his hands over Clint's bare torso, through his hair and lingered on his collar. He felt a deep flash of satisfaction at seeing it against Clint's skin. Despite tense stand offs and awkward conversations with their teammates and even media attention when someone caught it on film during their last battle, Clint kept Tony's collar on him and on display. 

"How do you feel about rope?" Tony blinked. He hadn't been planning on asking that. Still, Clint would look good in rope. 

"Mmm?"

"Like a harness." He traced a pattern over Clint's chest. "Bet I could get some purple rope."

Clint laughed. "Everything doesn't have to be purple." He hesitated. "You want to tie me up?"

Tony tilted his head. "I could. But that sort of seems likely to end in nasty memories." He knew he'd chosen right when Clint exhaled, his shoulders coming down. "Yeah, thought so. I was more thinking, you know, shibari. Patterns. I like the concentration of it."

Clint leaned back against Tony. "Sure."

Tony squeezed his neck beneath the collar. "Not now."

Clint settled. "'kay."

**

Tony liked to think it was a sign of maturity that he could separate Natasha's crappy reaction from Natasha as a person. Also, he really didn't want to fuck them up in the field. Doom threw weirder and more dangerous stuff at them all the time. 

Which is why he had JARVIS let Natasha find her way to video of him and Clint. JARVIS pinged him when she accessed it.

Tony sighed. "Pull it up on the screen. Split-screen with her."

It was an intimate setting. Clint wasn't collared in it, but he was kneeling at Tony's feet. His eyes were closed as he talked.

_"I guess," Clint said. "We used to be close. But- he sort of held it together. Us together. And now I just remember him when I see her."_

_Tony in the video hummed and ran a hand through Clint's hair. "Have you talked to her at all?"_

_Clint tensed visibly, his face pulling into a frown. "No."_

_Tony didn't push._

On the live feed, Natasha's face went still and neutral, a definite sign that she was hiding. She turned away from where she had the video pulled up. Tony sighed.

"Let them go, JARVIS." The wall went back to normal. He rubbed a hand over his face, snorting when he realized he'd left a grease trail. With any luck, the vid would help. 

**

Clint did like rope. He'd been curious as Tony crafted cuffs for his arms and legs. He'd run a finger over the bands of rope, six inches wide on each leg and a little shorter on his arms. The cuffs were clearly decorative rather than the sort that could be used to restrain. Clint had become slowly quieter as Tony wound the coils around his chest, fashioning a complicated harness. The diamonds and angles of skin between blue and black rope made an intriguing picture. 

Tony didn't know what Clint was responding to: the rope itself, Tony's dominant body language, or simply touch. Whatever it was, Tony could hear the way Clint's breath shallowed out, a slow shift taking him deeper than Tony'd seen him go before. By the time Tony wove patterns over Clint's jeans, he was clearly struggling to keep his feet. 

"Good," Tony murmured, stroking over denim, "you're doing good. I've got you." A soft litany of praise and approval got them through the last few knots. Tony stood and guided Clint over to the mirror. "Look."

Clint looked, his eyes huge in the reflection. Tony saw the moment it started to become too much. 

"Knees." He grabbed the back of the harness, taking some of Clint's weight as he all but collapsed to his knees. "Kneel back." 

Clint's gasps were loud in the room. Tony knelt behind him, pressing close. He moved one hand to his collar and the other to Clint's chest, centering. "I've got you. Clint. _Clint._ "

Clint swallowed heavily. His breathing calmed down some. "T-tony." His hands came up to clutch at Tony's. "Tony."

"Shh." Tony pressed a soft kiss to Clint's head, heard him swallow a whimper. Need poured off him. Tony fought down a shiver of panic. He didn't know what else to do. Clint was still shivering in short bursts. "My good boy," he whispered, hand rubbing a slow circle over Clint's chest. "My good, beautiful, strong boy."

After a minute, when Clint seemed no more responsive, Tony got them onto the couch. He draped a soft blanket over Clint and knelt in front of him, cupping his face between his hands.

"Clint? Do you want the rope off?"

Clint was clearly struggling to focus. "I- I don't know. Maybe some of it? I don't-"

Tony heard his voice start to rise, ratcheting up into panic, and cut him off. "Shh, OK. It's OK. We'll just try some and see how that goes, alright?" As he worked his way backwards, loosening the knots over Clint's legs, he rubbed briskly. "Any numbness?"

Clint took a moment to answer. "No."

"Good," Tony said, relieved to hear Clint. "How are you feeling?"

"Lost."

The response was quicker, but not more reassuring. Tony winced to hear it. By now, Clint was down to wrist and ankle cuffs. 

"I- I need Tasha." Tony braced himself and breathed out slowly. Fuck. There were so many ways this could go wrong. 

"JARVIS, is Natasha in the building?"

"Yes, sir. She is currently between tasks."

Tony straightened himself up and moved to the vid screen, where Natasha wouldn't be able to see Clint. "Call her, please."

Natasha's face, set to super-spy neutral, appeared, the background a hallway. Literally between tasks, then. "Stark."

Tony didn't waste any time. "Clint's a little shaken up, and he's asking for you. We're in the penthouse."

She nodded briskly and turned, obviously intent on getting to them.

Tony turned back to Clint. "She's coming. Do you want-" He gestured at the cuffs.

Clint shrugged. "They're fine." He swayed toward Tony and away again, as though he weren't certain he wanted to be touched. Tony decided to err on the side of not touching. He stayed near enough to be present but didn't crowd Clint. He wasn't sure what was going on- he hadn't seen anything quite like this before. 

Natasha rapped twice before Tony opened the door to her. As soon as the door was open, Clint blurted something at her in- Russian? Probably Russian. Her mask broke into temporary surprise. She said something back, and all the tension seeped out of Clint. He asked something else, his tone softer. She came closer, ran a gentle hand through his hair as she responded. He huffed a soft laugh.

"Sorry, Tony." His eyes were clear again. "I sort of lost track. It felt- the floating was kinda like Loki. And drugs. And I wasn't sure I knew what was real. Tasha's the only one who knows." He shrugged again. 

Tony swallowed a thick knot of sick. "Oh. That's. Awful, actually, really awful. I mean, I'm glad Natasha is here and everything but maybe we should, you know, not do stuff that makes you disassociate? Because, uh, bad."

Clint pouted. There was no other word to describe it. "But I was having so much fun up to that point."

Tony sighed and sat on the couch, on the opposite side of Clint from Natasha. "Do I need to make sure you have tea time with your assassin twin after we play?"

Clint laughed and leaned back into him. Tony saw the puppy eyes he gave Natasha, though. Tony rubbed a thumb over the wrist cuff nearest him.

"Ready to have these off?"

Clint complied, letting Tony unwind the rope from his wrists and turning obediently to place his feet in Tony's lap. Natasha was remarkably quiet through it. There was just a hint of rope burn on one wrist. Tony touched it lightly, saw the way Clint's eyes darkened. 

"You're going to go get laid tomorrow, aren't you?"

Clint grinned. "With someone who likes rope burn on their men," he agreed.

Tony shook his head and laughed, loose and pleased.

**

The mission had been a a tough one, and now the team was slumped together in the main lounge, a movie playing. Tony let the sounds of a car chase rush over him. Not even the thorough ridiculousness of some of the moves being pulled could penetrate tonight. The armor kept him from more than bumps and bruises mostly. The rest of the team- well, the other guy was fine. Bruce had retired to sleep off post-Hulk exhaustion. But Cap was resting off a couple of bullet wounds to the arm after his suit had torn. Thor laid on his front, because some fucker had torched his back. And Natasha and Clint both sported slices where the fight had gotten personal with a knife or two. Clint's collar sported its first scar, too. As Tony had promised, though, it hadn't torn. 

Tony ran a gentle finger over the side. Clint was sacked out, half on Tony, half on the couch. He shifted in his sleep, face scrunched up. Tony grimaced and hoped he wasn't lying on a knife wound. As though in answer, Clint huffed out a soft breath. Tony smiled and let the movie draw his attention again.

The team all knew, at least vaguely, what he and Clint were to each other. They'd opted not to clarify the most personal aspects, especially after the team's initial reactions. People who ranged from belated acceptance to scientific curiosity to bemusement didn't have any right to know whether he and Clint were sleeping together or what exactly made up their dynamic. Aside from the collar's presence, they'd mostly kept it low-key in front of the others. Pepper, and now Natasha, were the only ones who'd seen anything more intimate then Tony tracing a finger over Clint's collar.

On screen, something exploded. Clint whimpered. Tony frowned. Even that alertness didn't prepare him, though. One moment, Clint was sleeping restlessly, and the next he was perched on the back of the couch, eyes blank, a knife in his hand. The team snapped to their feet. JARVIS paused the movie.

They all took in the trembling muscles and darting eyes, clearly seeing them without seeing _them_. Flashback. This could get nasty. 

"Hawkeye," Rogers tried, all Captain voice, "stand down."

"Come, friend Clint, will you not rest? 'Tis only battle-weariness. You are safe, I assure you."

No answer. JARVIS, well-used to PTSD, began a calm recitation. "It is June 17th, 2013. It is 9:12 pm and you are in Avengers Tower. There are no intruders and all security measures are in place."

Clint's eyes moved frantically, trying to locate the speaker. He didn't remember JARVIS. Bad sign. Fuck. "JARVIS, no more."

Natasha tried to move closer. Clint tensed, adjusting his grip on the knife. 

"Clint," Tony said. Clint didn't take his eyes off Natasha. She began talking to him, a low murmur of Russian. She edged closer again, but stopped when he growled. She sighed and backed up. Rogers straightened, a grim line to his mouth suggesting he was about to try something stupid, like tackling Clint. Tony took a deep breath. This would either help or he'd end up bleeding all over everything. 

Giving no one time to react, he darted forward and grabbed Clint by the collar. He pulled, dragging Clint down to the couch and then the floor, moving just slow enough that Clint could adjust. Clint landed on his knees in front of Tony.

"Clint. Where are you?"

There was along pause. "T-Tony?"

The room exhaled audibly. Tony let his eyes flicker closed for a thankful second. "Where are you, Clint?"

"Here." Clint seemed to register the knife in his hand. _"Fuck."_ The blade disappeared. "I'm here."

Tony ran his free hand through Clint's hair. "Good." 

Clint sighed into it. He leaned against Tony's hand. After a minute, he tensed. Tony could see the rising awareness of exactly where they were and who was watching. Clint forced his eyes open, their wideness giving away what a battle it was to keep alert. He didn't tremble as he flexed his legs, preparing to rise.

"Down," Tony barked. No time for niceties. There was no way in hell he was letting Clint up like this, no way he was going to compound the flashback with shame. "Eyes on me or the ground, Clint."

Clint dropped his eyes to the ground. He followed blindly when Tony sat and led him between his knees. It was only a few steps. For Clint to do anything without seeing, though, that was big. He shot one warning look at the other Avengers and then ignored them as he settled Clint. Uneasy frowns he could deal with, as long as they stayed away from Clint.

"I think we're changing movies," Tony announced. "Something lighthearted. Rogers can pick."

By some miracle, Rogers seemed to get the joke. "There's nothing wrong with liking romantic comedies," he retorted. Clint snickered into Tony's knee.

Tony tilted his head. "Do you have something to add?"

"No, sir." Clint's voice was so easy and pleased when he spoke that Tony swallowed down triumph. Clint shifted slightly as Bruce came closer, passing them to examine movie offerings with Rogers.

"Are you looking at something, Clint?" Warning threaded his tone.

Clint shifted, this time in discomfort. "You realize I have ridiculously good peripheral vision, right?"

Tony narrowed his eyes. "If you can't manage watching what I tell you, then close your eyes."

The silence in the room thickened. Clint swallowed. He darted a quick look up at Tony's face. Tony held the eye contact, willing Clint to let himself go. Clint took a deep breath, leaned his cheek against Tony's thigh, and closed his eyes. Tony stroked his hair, part reassurance, part reward.

The rest of movie night passed without disturbance. Thor took one long look at them and offered a pillow to Tony. Tony got it under Clint's knees and nodded to the god. Rogers couldn't seem to keep his eyes off them. By the end of the movie, he looked more like he was trying to memorize them for artistic purposes than figure out a tactical problem. Natasha and Bruce treated them normally. No one missed the way tension melted out of Clint's body the longer he stayed kneeling, his laughter freer at the movie's most ridiculous parts. He was a ball of loose-limbed happiness when the credits rolled. 

No one said anything when Clint admitted sheepishly that he didn't want to open his eyes, nor when Tony walked him to his room.

**

Tony stared down at Clint grimly. It was a good thing the team had seen him subbing to Tony before. His previous flashback had nothing on this. Tony shed the armor as fast as he could, but Cap had still had to carry Clint, screaming in terror, into the Tower. There was absolutely no way they were making it further. Clint was comatose now. He didn't respond to Tony's voice. If any of them tried to touch him, Clint flailed wildly and made a sound of such fear that they couldn't sustain the contact. The team was all worried that they might set him back if they tried to move him any further. He was safely within the bounds of the Tower. That was the best they could do.

"I need three pillows, a blanket, a change of clothes for both of us, and a glass of water." Natasha, Bruce, and Steve split off. Tony considered for a moment and grimaced. "Some of that stuff for bruises and an aspirin are probably a good idea too." Thor, unusually silent, left to do his bidding. Tony sighed.

He needed a game plan. Nothing they'd done compared to this. Clint's eyes were squeezed shut. His muscles clenched in anticipation of pain. Whimpers slipped through his clenched teeth. Fighting Loki again had done nothing good for him. They were fucking lucky he'd lasted through the fight. 

Bruce returned first. Tony gulped down the water in his hand. "I'm thinking a pitcher might be a good idea."

Bruce raised a sardonic eyebrow. "And possibly a washcloth. Everyone smells like a fight."

Tony blinked. "Oh. Sure. Yeah, good idea."

Natasha came back with clothes as Bruce disappeared back to the kitchen. Tony sighed in relief. She'd picked exactly right: soft, loose clothes that would be easy to get into or out of. Tony recognized the shirt as a favorite of Clint's. She was solemn and even more silent than usual as she handed them over. Tony set the pile on the tiled floor and stripped out of his under armor with a wince. Bruce re-emerged as Thor bounced down the stairs, Steve close behind him. Tony grabbed a washcloth and gave himself a quick rubdown. He dry swallowed the aspirin and scooped out the balm. Once the massive bruise on his hip and thigh was covered in goop, Tony stepped into sweatpants.

The other Avengers hovered nervously through his routine. Tony tugged two pillows out of Steve's pile and laid them on the floor, behind Clint. He grunted as he got himself down onto them. As he carefully arranged himself close to Clint's back, but not touching, he said, "I need everyone to go take the quickest shower of your life. Bruce pointed out we smell like a fight. Nothing to make this worse." He ran over the top of their protests. "JARVIS, throw up a live image of me and Clint in everyone’s showers."

There was a stiff pause. Then Steve turned and sprinted for his room. Inside a minute, they were alone. Tony didn't say anything, didn't try anything. If Clint reacted poorly, he needed physical back up at this point. He just stayed near and breathed. Tony closed his eyes and listened for Clint. He kept his own breathing quiet and deep and let everything from the day wash away. Clint's gasped whimpers slowly faded. His breathing slowed, not enough to match Tony's, but less panicked. Tony blinked open his eyes to see Natasha, hair wrapped in a towel, and Steve, had returned. Carefully, Tony lifted his hand and settled it featherlight on Clint's waist. Clint's breath hitched in a strangled scream. Tony bit the inside of his lip. Clint didn't scream more than once, though. He stilled when nothing further happened. It made Tony want to scream himself, to find Loki and rip every single thing he'd done to Clint from his mind. To find everyone who had ever hurt Clint and make them regret it. What the hell had happened to Clint, to make him this terrified of being touched?

"Natasha," Tony said, careful to keep his voice low and even, "is he likely to have any, ah, surprises tucked into his suit?" She gave him a blistering look in return. Right. Stupid question. "Any idea how many?"

Natasha shrugged. "I could find them all, but it would be- unpleasant."

Tony shifted minutely. "No. Not unless the situation gets worse." Tony moved his hand a little, stroking over Clint's waist and hip. He kept up a quiet conversation. "Is there-" he winced, "-is there anything in his past that might make him associate pleasant touch with trauma?"

Rogers went stony-eyed. Tony didn't want to say it, but the unspoken word echoed in the room anyway. Natasha considered his question. "If he does, I don't know about it. He's never given any indication before."

So it might be recent. And that meant Loki. Or it might be nothing, just misfiring synapses. Fuck knew PTSD didn't make sense all the time. Tony nodded.

"Keep talking. You and Rogers, talk. I want him to hear us without feeling like he has to respond just yet. Maybe something'll sink in."

Natasha and Rogers looked at each other. Tony lengthened the strokes he was making over Clint's body armor. He ran a gentle hand down Clint's arm. He wasn't sure what to do if this didn't work. Clint seemed calmer, but only marginally so. Tony didn't want to try forcing him up. When he tuned back in, Thor and Bruce were listening with some bemusement to Natasha and Steve talk about Russian literature. Apparently Cap had opinions.

Abruptly, Clint convulsed in his arms. He shook so hard Tony had to remind himself not to grip.

"Clint," Tony tried, voice urgent.

"F-fuck," Clint said. He scrambled to all fours to get away from Tony. He made it a few feet before he threw up all over the floor. He gagged. 

Tony gestured urgently for the cup of water, pushing it into Clint's hand. "Here. Clean your mouth."

Grimacing, Clint took a mouthful and then paused, eyes darting around.

"Spit," Tony said. "Clint, for fuck's sake, the floor'll clean. _Spit._ "

Clint spat the water onto the floor, then did it again. On the third sip, he swallowed. Tony watched worriedly. He held his hand out for the cup when Clint finished the water. Clint shuffled carefully over to hand it to him. He didn't meet Tony's eyes. Tony sighed and knelt up as best he could, awkward on the cushion with his thigh throbbing. He dragged Clint in by the wrists. Clint came, unresisting. He looked up briefly, a flicker of eye contact that, combined with his quick breaths, told Tony a lot. He squeezed Clint's wrists in a reassuring grip and saw the shiver that worked its way through Clint. Now, more than ever, he needed to know that Tony would tell him what to do. A steady voice to balance what must be terrible memories of Loki and wrenching ones of Coulson.

Into the taut silence came the quick clicking of heels. Pepper appeared a moment later. Her hair whipped around her face and she was nearly running. 

"Clint!" She took in the scene in seconds and came to them. "Clint." She pressed a kiss to his forehead. "You're going to be OK."

This, this tenderness and steely resolution, was one of the many reasons he loved her. The tension he'd been carrying since Clint began freaking out eased. "Pep," he said, "Pep. I need the rope in my bedroom."

She straightened. "In the usual place?" He nodded, and she left, no comments. Thank fuck. Clint shook under him.

"Are you sure that's wise?" Natasha meant to be reasonable, Tony was sure, but really? Was this really a good time for questions?

Clint answered her. He nodded yes so vigorously there could be no mistaking his need. Pain splayed out across his face, a desperate misery that made Tony pull him closer. 

"Just hang in there," Tony whispered, "Pepper's coming. Just breathe for me."

Clint's shoulders came up. "I'm covered in grime."

Tony chose to take that as literal. "Just sweat. Here, let's get this off you." He reached for a buckle on Clint's suit. Clint flinched and went sniper-still. Tony stopped, hand resting against the material. "Clint?"

Clint's mouth opened and his face twisted. Ah. Vulnerability couldn't be easy after today. 

"Just us," Tony said, tilting his forehead to lean against Clint's. "No one can get in."

Natasha stalked past them and drew an alarming amount of knife from...somewhere. Tony didn't like to think about it. She crouched slightly, eyes fixed firmly on the door. Her back was to them. "Go on," she said. Wordlessly, Steve took up a similar position facing the stairs. 

Now that the team was guarding them, Clint let Tony peel him out of his costume and body armor. His bare skin showed bruises and scrapes in places, but nothing too bad. The mental damage this time far outstripped the physical. Bruce came forward with the basin and a washcloth- not the one Tony had used, so he must've had two. He put the basin down near them and retreated quietly on socked feet.

"Backwards," Clint muttered. Tony flashed him a quick grin as he began to wash, starting at his forehead and working down.

"Don't worry," he said, "you'll get to do something for me in a minute." Clint nodded, leaning into the rough rub of the cloth.

By the time Pepper came back with the rope, Tony was down to Clint's feet. He glanced up and laughed. Pepper's arms were absolutely full of rope, piled nearly to her chin.

"I'm not doing a full-on suspension. Or tying up the whole team."

"Shut up, dear." Pepper deposited the rope by him and gave him a quick kiss. "Better too much than not enough." She dangled scissors off her finger. He took them and she retreated before he could make a quip about life mottos.

"Um." Apparently Steve had seen the scissors out of some super-solider corner of his eye or something.

Tony cut him off. "They're for emergencies, Cap. To cut the rope off."

"Oh." 

Nothing else was forthcoming, so Tony went to work. Clint knelt up and got into sweatpants while Tony sorted through the rope for a short piece. Tony unlooped it and ran it through his hands, automatically checking for weakness or roughness. He frowned slightly, looking quickly around. He needed to be higher than Clint, but the entry hall wasn't exactly a great place for this. Kneeling was killing his thigh. Nothing stuck out. He'd just have to muscle through, then. 

"Hands in front," he told Clint. "Lay your forearms together, like you're going to grab the opposite elbow." It took Clint a second, but he figured it out. Clint swayed toward him, lips parted. Tony really wished he were braced better.

The design was basic, just a simple wrap around Clint's forearms. Tony started just short of Clint's left wrist and worked until he was almost at Clint's right. He double-checked for circulation then wove back to the center before braiding the rest, giving himself a short leash to Clint. Tony startled slightly at the clatter of noise behind him.

"Sorry," Cap said. He set down the...ottoman? Where the fuck had he even gotten an ottoman? Tony hadn't even noticed him leaving. He set it down behind Tony. And, alright, it was sort of the perfect height for this. Tony shrugged and hoisted himself up on it. The soft give beneath him reminded him.

"Get one of the pillows under your knees, Clint." He let go of the leash so that Clint could move. He didn't have his hands, not easily, but there were a dozen ways Clint could fetch the pillow. Apparently having his hands tied was helping as much as Tony had hoped, because his eyes lit with mischief.

"Yes, sir." And that was all the warning Tony got before Clint knee-walked over to the pillows and bent in a fluid motion to pick one up with his _teeth._ He looked fucking proud of himself as he came back and set the pillow at Tony's feet before climbing onto it.

Tony chuckled. "Good boy," he said, and gave Clint's head a scratch to follow up. He felt the way Clint melted into it, partly the touch but mostly the words. "Watch the left thigh," he warned as he guided Clint's head down. "You did good today," he said, softer and less teasing now. Clint exhaled heavily. "I'm proud of you."

"I was good?"

And Tony could hear it, the longing and the disbelief both in Clint's quiet words and it killed him. He heard the hint of Clint's boyhood. Hell, he heard himself, too, all those years of practically begging Howard to notice him, _please_. Tony reached between them and gathered the leash, wrapping it once around his fist. His heart pounded with protective rage for everyone that had ever convinced Clint he couldn't be good, from his deadbeat dad all the way up to whatever asshole handlers he'd had before Coulson. 

"So good," he promised, resting both hands on Clint's shoulders. Clint slumped into him even more. Tony saw how long he'd wanted that, needed to be good for someone. Fucking Loki, turning that need inside out. Fucking Coulson, even, the only person Clint had ever really been good for, dying just when Clint needed him most. Tony curled over Clint, his free hand stroking down Clint's back. Clint turned his face into Tony's thigh, shaking. Tony didn't know if it was shock or grief this time. 

"I'm so glad you're here, Clint." Pepper came close again, kneeling next to him. She settled a hand on his shoulder. Tony would've warned off anyone else, but Clint had been responsive to Pepper before. "You've been really good for Tony."

Tony shot a cautious look at her. She didn't mean that in quite the same way Tony did. He couldn't decide if he hoped she meant it, or not.

"That's true." And wow, he had not expected Steve of all people to butt in on his scene. Though he supposed it wasn't quite butting in. Yet. "Tony's been more...stable since you've been, uh, together. Fewer reckless moves."

Huh. Tony thought over the past few months and- yes, OK, he can see it. Apparently, having someone else to take care of made a difference. Not that- his eyes veered to Pepper again, a touch guilty. But. Tony ran a hand over Clint's hair. It wasn't the same. Pepper wouldn't fall to pieces without him. Clint would. He had been.

Either way, it undid Clint. He was crying now, soft, wet sounds smothered in Tony's pants. Tony clenched his teeth and gathered Clint as close as he could in this position. He dug his chin into the top of Clint's head. Fuck. Sub drop didn't even begin to describe this, dammit. Behind them, Natasha said something fierce in Russian, obviously aimed at Clint. Clint sobbed, unable to be quiet anymore. 

"Shield brother," Thor said, suddenly closer, "let us move you to somewhere more comfortable, yes?"

Clint tightened his grip on Tony's calf painfully. "Shh," Tony said, "not going anywhere. Let's just get to the den."

Clint shuddered but, after a moment, tried to force himself to his feet. Thor swooped down and picked him up, cushion and all. Clint managed a startled 'urp', and then they were in motion. Tony rose with them, keeping a firm hand on Clint's shortened leash. The rest of the Avengers trailed behind them, carrying pillows and blankets and water. 

With some relief, Tony eased himself down onto the couch. Plush cushions, nice and deep, just the way he liked surrounded him. Bruce hovered uncertainly behind Thor, the cushion Clint had been kneeling on clutched in his hands. Before Tony could direct him to put it down, Thor bent and deposited Clint carefully in Tony's lap. Clint squirmed down until only his shoulders and head were in Tony's lap. His eyes were clenched shut, mouth a stubborn line. Tony ran a soothing hand over Clint's forehead and leaned down to deposit a gentle kiss there. 

"My good boy," Tony whispered, and Clint shivered. The tears had dried up. There was a flurry of movement, and then Natasha, blanket in hand, curled up against Clint's back. She gave Tony a very cautious look and put her head between Clint's shoulder blades. Tony arched an eyebrow. OK. That was- weird. He took the blanket from her and spread it over both the assassins in his lap. Thor stroked the material once, and sat, completely unselfconscious about being in nearly the same position Clint had been earlier. Of course, his head still came comfortably up to Tony's chest. That helped. Pepper slipped out of her shoes and took the far end of the couch, easing Clint's feet into her lap and stealing a bit of blanket. Steve paced around the room and came to a stop behind the couch. Tony felt a pulse of annoyance. Of course, he would put himself in a more dominant position than Tony. 

Pepper sighed. "Steve, stop hovering."

Steve came back into view and, after considering for a minute, moved an armchair closer to the couch. A glance at Bruce, and he moved a second chair, so they formed a sort of- well, he couldn't call it a circle, but it was nice. Close. Clint eased by margins, the anxious tension fading away. Tony straightened cautiously, humming his pleasure when Clint stayed relaxed. Everyone settled in.

Tony drifted, hands moving rhythmically over Clint's hair, his neck and shoulders, tracing his collar. Clint's breathing evened out.

"Is he asleep?" Steve kept his voice to hardly louder than a whisper. Tony stilled a moment.

"Yes."

Steve nodded and leaned back. "Good." He met Tony's eyes steadily. "Tony, I never said...Thank you. For taking care of Clint." There was a soft murmur of assent from the others.

Tony's lips twitched. "You're welcome."

"It's been his pleasure," Pepper said for him dryly. Tony grinned at her. 

"It really has." Tony looked from Pepper to his team, all huddled close, to Clint (and possibly Natasha) asleep in his lap and felt, for the first time in a long time, safe and happy.

The End

**Author's Note:**

> The rating is for the kink, not the sex.


End file.
